


The Messenger

by Fantine_Black



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Advice, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Credence Barebone Gets a Hug, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Intervention, M/M, One Shot, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Original Percival Graves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:14:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25679449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fantine_Black/pseuds/Fantine_Black
Summary: Percival shouldn't meddle in No-Maj affairs, but one afternoon in Central Park, he does it anyway. There's boys enough he couldn't save - this won't be one of them.
Relationships: Credence Barebone/Original Percival Graves
Comments: 8
Kudos: 54





	The Messenger

It was a split second decision, but then battle movements always were.

And yes, it was something about the boy's movements that caught his eye - a sagging downwards on a park bench, neck bending even further under an imaginary load, but it was the loosening of his shoulders that rattled Percival far more than the tension that had radiated from the boy less than a second earlier. That he could have ignored; life's strain got to all of us, man, beast, magical or not. The boy's sickly pallor, the dark circles on a sunny day in May- worrying, but he had enough to worry about. It was the gasp, the near collapse of him that turned Percival's step, that led him to a No-Maj boy he'd no use knowing.

The boy was likely out of it, they all were when they got like this. And this was Central Park, no place for a concealment charm, even a stealthy one - people would wonder where he'd gone - careful and quick, then, did the trick, for wizards too.

No one paid him any mind as he stopped behind the boy.

He'd been right.

The shoulders were heaving.

His hands, what he could see of them, hanging between his legs, were shaking. His breath was rattling. 

He might be sobbing soon, or very quiet - neither was going to end well.

Graves dropped his voice. "No. No you don't, son."

Of course that startled him, but Percival put both hands on his shoulders. "Hush. Nothing is going to happen." He put some magic behind it to keep him still. "I want you to close your eyes and lean back against me."

The boy bristled. "No, I -"

A little more magical force. "Sh. You were going to give up. And I'm telling you no, son."

A tremor. "Please. I - who _are_ you?"

"A bystander." He squeezed his shoulder. "Listen. Whatever I could do is no worse than you were going to do anyway. But I'm here now, and I'm telling you to take a breath."

He cringed further. "Are you an angel?"

Poor boy. "I'm a messenger, if you want." He gave him another squeeze, then lifted the magic. "Rest a moment. Just a moment."

The boy let out a low moan, and then he did - folding his face completely against Percival, nuzzling in for comfort, eyes dutifully closed.

"Sh, good boy," Percival said. "There's a good boy. Now." He stroked his hair. "You are going to keep your eyes closed. I'll sit next to you." He needed a small disillusionment circle - people were starting to notice. The boy shuddered at the loss of contact, so, spells duly cast, Percival pulled him into an embrace.

The boy whimpered.

He stroked his hair some more. "You've seen too much," he said, and he felt the boy nod against him. "And you're too young to hope that it can get better, when this is all you know." He pulled him tight. "But I'm telling you, son - what's your name?"

"C- Credence," he stuttered.

"Credence," Percival said. "Well, Credence - you've come this far, and that's why you will go further, and you will get yourself out of wherever they're hurting you like this."

He cringed. "I - I've tried, I've nowhere to go - "

"Then you'll _find_ somewhere to go, if you have to join the circus," Percival said. "Because Credence, there are terrible people everywhere, and there are decent people everywhere, and you will learn to tell them apart." He rubbed his back. "The people who do this to you, they're not worth the air you breathe, and part of you knows that."

They sat silent for a while.

"Please," the boy said. "Please, may I see you?"

"You may not," Percival said. "What you are going to do is the following. You're going to hold out your hand, and when you open your eyes, you're going to find twenty drag- dollars. Twenty dollars. You're going to use those to get these shoes fixed. And buy some new socks. Nobody will ask where you got those." 

"But sir, that's - " the boy gasped.

"Get yourself food with the rest of it," Percival said, "or a place to get out of the rain. Do you like those moving pictures, Credence?"

"I've never been," he said. "My Ma - "

"Is never going to hear a word of this," Percival said. "And then, Credence, when you're fed, and rested, you are going to get yourself far from where you are now. Promise me." He took the boy's hand and squeezed it. Not an Unbreakable Vow by any means, but he needed him to feel some urgency, even for weeks to come. "Credence. Promise me."

"I promise, sir," he said, much firmer now.

There was fight in him yet.

"Good, well done," Percival said. "Now hold out your hand."

But he recoiled. "Not yet, sir - please..."

"Shhh," Percival said again. "You'll find someone who'll hold you," he said. "For hours on end. If you hold on." He kissed his temple. "Your hand, Credence."

The boy did so, shaking - whatever was that about? - and Percival counted out the strange currency. "Well done. I need you to sit with your eyes closed. Sing a song in your head, say a prayer, count back from a hundred, but whatever you do, Credence, if you open your eyes before five minutes are up, that money will be gone, and I will not be pleased with you, my boy."

He shook his head. "I understand."

"Well then," Percival said. "Goodbye, Credence."

He didn't need five minutes to find a place to Apparate away from, but he had to make sure Credence kept his promise - or he'd have to Obliviate him. And he... didn't want to do that. He wanted to be remembered by this boy, if it didn't make any sense - something told him it might somehow be important, this boy remembering him, for reasons he could not articulate even to himself. So he kept looking at the boy, eyes faithfully closed, clutching his money, and felt himself hoping, somehow, that one day - maybe, for whatever reason - they would meet again.

And then everything would be different.

~fin~


End file.
